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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453693">Ghostly Loved One Now Forgotten</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasper_Ghost/pseuds/Jasper_Ghost'>Jasper_Ghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Outsiders - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Ghosts, Imaginary friend AU, Paranormal, Past Character Death, The death of the curtis parents isn't described!, a little softness, darbit if you squint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:21:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasper_Ghost/pseuds/Jasper_Ghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two-Bit is Darry's "imaginary" friend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghostly Loved One Now Forgotten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There sat a young boy, the youthful look of happiness sparkling in his eyes as he played with an imaginary friend at the park. He appeared to be having fun, chattering with the invisible friend that seemed to be beside him, drawing shapes in the dirt to paint out the scene they were playing in. However, unlike other children his age with imaginary friends, he didn’t talk for them; it seemed as if he was having an actual conversation with someone. He would speak, then pause, then reply, occasionally giggling at the joke his friend had said. He would call him “Two-Bit.” The name concerned his parents, a sad look coming to his mother’s eyes as she glanced up at her husband, almost seeking guidance for the strange coincidence. Yet, the husband couldn’t make think of an explanation for their son’s behavior. He’d only sigh and look away, opting to focus on their “normal” children. They had tried to fix their baby, but nothing worked.</p><p> </p><p>Therapy, doctor visits, and even asking a psychic didn’t help them. Whatever they said, it didn’t make sense. It didn’t help that their son wouldn’t properly answer them. </p><p> </p><p>Two-Bit was always there for him, always around! They were attached at the hip apparently, and Two-Bit had even gifted him things. A lady, that he only knew as Ms. Mathews, would come by, talk to his parents, a tear sometimes slipping from her familiar gray eyes, then she’d leave, giving them some item that he’d always assumed was from Two-Bit. The extra-large leather jacket that was usually hanging off his rather thin frame was from him, keeping him warm in the winter and during the night when he was cold with all his blankets and comforter atop of him. His parents had asked him many times to let go of the jacket, stuff it in a box that’d get dusty in his closet as the years rolled by, but he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He felt like Two-Bit’d get upset if he hid it away. Anything that was his, he couldn’t get rid of, even if it didn’t fit in or match the rest of the decorations in his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Darry, this was cute when you were younger. But now, boy, you’re thirteen. You gotta let it go,” said the boy’s father. Tears immediately clouded his vision, hands immediately clinging onto the heavy jacket on his shoulders that his father was referring to, knuckles already a snowy white. His father wouldn’t rip it away from him, but he was still scared that he would. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” he said, voice already shaking. His eyes twitched to his left, more tears pooling in his eyes when he saw Two-Bit next to him, his see-through hand on his arm. He seemed to be scared too; he didn’t want him to be scared. He shouldn’t feel scared. He had promised him numerous times that he wouldn’t get rid of the gift.</p><p> </p><p>His mother now joined the two, her eyes dull with the fatigue of having this same conversation at least five times a month, but her rosy lips were still pulled into a hopeful smile. “Honey, c’mon. We can always get you a better jacket, one that fits better.”</p><p> </p><p>Darry suddenly felt like he was a toddler again, anger quickly bubbling up in his chest, ready to throw a tantrum for not getting his way. “This <em> is </em> the better jacket, momma! Nothin’ can replace it, none are better than it. It’s a gift, and <em> you </em> told me to not throw gifts away!” he shouted, his voice cracking with every other word, tears falling from his eyes now, dripping down his red cheeks. “ <em> You </em> always said it’s rude to throw away the gifts from aunts and uncles that don’t know <em> anythin’ </em> about me! So, it’s no different if the gift is from Two-Bit.”</p><p><br/>“Baby, it’s not-”</p><p> </p><p>“Jessabelle, don’t,” his father interrupted, his voice low and strong. He knew if she mentioned anything about what had happened years ago, it would crush Darry. His mother looked at him, her smile no longer there, a frown replacing it, her brow furrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Darrel, he has to know.”</p><p><br/>“Leave ‘im be for now. Look at him.” Her mint eyes shifted to look at their son. He was sucking in small, frequent breaths, trying to keep himself from sobbing, and tears poured from his eyes like waterfalls. It was a saddening sight, it made her chest hurt from what she’s done to her baby. A sigh came from her, and she suddenly pulled him into a hug, fingers gingerly combing through his hair to calm him; he was so stiff in her hold. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, honey.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There the boy was again, eighteen, now graduating from high school, cap on his head, gown draped over him, and his friend still at his side. His face beaming with pride of his accomplishments, his GPA so close to a 4.0, the most popular kid on his football team despite his social status. </p><p> </p><p>He was scared to go up on stage, be in front of his peers and their families, but Two-Bit was with him, whispering reassuring words to him as he climbed the stairs, remaining hidden behind the pulled curtains. Two-Bit never left, and he never planned to get rid of him, even if it was odd for someone of his age to have an imaginary friend. His parents no longer knew, or they no longer cared that he still had Two-Bit. Conversations between him and the redhead were now private, held mostly at night after he had told his parents goodnight, hushed voices and restrained laughs making up the most of his night until he wished Two-Bit a goodnight as well, his alarm clock reading midnight as his sleepy eyes closed. </p><p> </p><p>Darry sighed and put on a bright smile as he marched out there once his name was called, giving his family that sat in one of the front few rows of seats a small wave of a hand. He thanked his principal as he was handed his diploma, and he proceeded to walk off the stage once he shook the hands of all the faculty there. </p><p> </p><p>“You did great,” Two-Bit complimented, making Darry smile even wider. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Two.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The boy was crying again, just having turned twenty, sitting in the comfort of his room, the blinds pulled, the overhead light and lamp off. His parents were gone, announced dead in a car wreck. He had just gotten the call that announced their death. He was strong then, acting as mature as he could as he spoke, even though he just wanted to collapse into a heap. However, that didn’t happen until shut the door of his bedroom, not wanting his brothers to know what had happened yet or get an idea of what had happened from his reaction.</p><p> </p><p>His sniffles were quiet, sucking in small, sharp, breaths as he curled in on himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Darry?” a soft, familiar voice said. Darry looked up, his vision cloudy with hot tears. Two-Bit was there, looking just as sad as him even though he didn’t know what had happened. He reached out and hovered a hand over his shoulder, coldness brushing over the area where his hand laid.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re <em> gone </em>, Two-Bit,” he whispered in a weak voice. The other frowned at the sound. His other hand came to wipe away the tears that continued to fall from his eyes, but it didn’t do anything, his thumb only went through the liquid, and Darry scrunched up his face at the cold. “Don’t, please.” Two-Bit complied, the hand returning to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>Darry rambled until his throat turned sore, sobbing about how he just figured out what he had wanted to go to college for, how he didn’t know how to run a family let alone keep a house from collapsing on top of him and his brothers, how he couldn’t believe his parents were just gone, just like that. They didn’t deserve to die. Why did they have to go now when him and his brothers needed them most? Ponyboy was turning fourteen that year, he didn’t remember anything about being that age, he didn’t know how to guide him through life like their parents would’ve. Sodapop was turning sixteen that year too, he was a reckless driver, living every moment he could to the fullest even when he was working, something bad could happen to him too, he could get in a wreck, and in the hospital or in a grave just like how their parents are soon to be. He silently hoped Ponyboy wouldn’t be the same as Sodapop, he’d follow the rules of the road, he wouldn’t pull any of the stuff Sodapop would.</p><p> </p><p>Two-Bit nodded along as Darry spoke, his expression only getting sadder and sadder as he listened. Eventually, his attention was captured by something else, a familiar, warm voice alongside a deep, bellowing one that sounded exactly like Darry’s, the southern accent just the tiniest bit thicker than his. His gaze flickered from the other’s face to where he heard the voices, his eyes only meeting pairs of honey and mint colors, staring at him with shock. If he was honest, he was shocked too to see the Curtis parents. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to seem insensitive when he just began talking to them-- he didn’t know if Darry could see them, but he doubted they could-- so he just nodded and let them talk to him instead. </p><p> </p><p>It was hard to listen and mutely respond to two conversations at once, but he managed, truly paying attention when they requested something of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Mrs. Curtis had pleaded, her voice soft. Two-Bit gave the two a small twitch of a smile and nodded, showing he was going to say what they had wanted.</p><p> </p><p>He looked back at the sobbing man; he was shivering. He wished he could throw a blanket over him, make him feel warm, feel comforted. “Hey, Dar?” he whispered, scooting closer to him. The sad, teal eyes looked up at him. A twitch of an eyebrow prompted him to continue. “Your parents want ya to know they still love you and your brothers,” Darry looked confused, but he didn’t explain anything, just kept delivering the message. “They’re gonna watch over y’all. They’re real proud of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Darry sniffed. “W-what?” he whimpered, rubbing his eyes, the back of his hand now shiny with tears. </p><p> </p><p>“Trust me, Dar.”</p><p> </p><p>The man wanted to question further, but he kept his mouth shut, trusting what was the closest thing comfort he had at the moment. </p><p> </p><p>When Two-Bit had left for the night, that’s when he finally went digging, wanting to find some kind of answer as to how his imaginary friend knew such a thing despite his parents being gone and unable to talk to the figment of his imagination.</p><p> </p><p>Scrapbooks were pulled off the living room bookshelf, stacked high in his arms, dustier than Hell. He sneezed a couple of times as he brought them to his room. Sodapop and Ponyboy were now asleep, all lights dimmed, the only light coming from the windows. With all the books cleaned and laid out on his sheets, he began looking through them, not in any particular order, though.</p><p> </p><p>His high school graduation pictures, Ponyboy’s freshman photos, and miscellaneous photos: photos of the family at the park or at family functions or somewhere unrecognizable. It wasn’t in that one.</p><p> </p><p>He kept looking, flipping through book after book, keeping his tears at bay every time he saw a picture of his parents. He was determined, even if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. He kept turning pages well into the early hours of the morning, eyes scanning every color cell possible for some kind of evidence. Yet, he didn’t find anything until the last book he picked up. It was the oldest one, dating back to before he was even born. He passed many photos of his mother pregnant with him, his father looking as proud as he could be in every one he was in with her during that time. Darry smiled. He watched himself from a swaddled baby to a stumbling toddler to a squeaky child. He smiled more at the pictures of him in little league, the helmet all too big for his head, bat too heavy for his small hands.</p><p> </p><p>He flipped to the page behind the one behind him looking oh so proud to be in his new baseball uniform, and his tired eyes widened when seeing Two-Bit standing beside him, actually standing behind him. His front two teeth were knocked out, but he was still smiling as excited as ever. He was wearing the same uniform as him, an arm slung around his shoulders. His hands shook as he stared at the image. He didn’t seem translucent like how he typically saw him, he couldn’t see the trees in the background through his arm or his head or anything. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes traveled to the description on the right of the photo and it read, “Darry and Keith M. (Two-Bit) March 5th, 1954.” It was his mom’s beautiful handwriting, delicate, small. It was cursive, and he was always jealous of how easily she could write in the font. However, he didn’t focus on that now, he was more confused about the photo, the name that wasn’t Two-Bit’s-- yet it seemed really familiar-- and the date. How did he know Two-Bit back then in person? He’s never seen him in that way, not all see-through, or, at least, he never remembered him being that way. </p><p> </p><p>He quickly grabbed a paper from his nightstand, stuffing it in the book so he’d remember where it was later when Two-Bit came around again. His breath shook as he restacked the books, the bookmarked one on top, and he placed the stack on his nightstand, shutting his lamp off. However, it was just getting light outside, painting his room a sad gray, so there was truly no point to have kept the lamp on as long as he did. A yawn forced itself out from his lips, his eyelids feeling much heavier now that he found that picture. He was out in seconds, not even able to pull his sheets over his shoulders before his breathing softened.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He sat there, on his bed, eyes cold with seriousness. He felt like the wife in his mother’s soap operas, waiting for her man, in his case, Two-Bit, to come home when it’s way after he was meant to be home. His arms were folded over his chest, clutching the precious scrapbook against him. He felt almost numb, ready to begin yelling at what seemed like the air-- thank God Ponyboy and Sodapop weren’t home. </p><p> </p><p>“G’mornin’, Darry,” Two-Bit greeted in a happy song, appearing from nothing at half-past ten. His jolly expression immediately fell when he saw Darry. If his heart could race, it would right then. He nervously moved closer to his friend, sitting down on the bed’s sheets. “Is, uh, everythin’ okay?”</p><p><br/>“<em>What </em>are you?” Darry asked immediately, not a beat after the other’s mouth shut. “<em>Who </em>are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m… I’m Two-Bit. Your buddy.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Imaginary </em>’ buddy.”</p><p> </p><p>The transparent man’s eyes widened at the tone, and his gaze moved down to the book pinned to Darry’s chest. He swallowed even though he didn’t need to anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Darry’s chest rose and fell with a frustrated breath, and he put the scrapbook down on the bed, flipping right to the bookmarked page before pointing at the photo of them. “<em> What </em>are you?” he repeated, making Two-Bit shrink away some. “Your name’s not even Two-Bit is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“You… you really don’t remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Two-Bit sighed and softly requested for the page to be turned. Darry did so, and he let out a silent gasp, his heart beating fast. It was a page full of pictures of them, all different dates, different labels describing who was in the photos and where they were. There were so many. He looked up at Two-Bit, confused as he seemed disappointed. </p><p> </p><p>“I really miss those times,” he whispered, his sad eyes gazing at the fond memories on the page.</p><p> </p><p>Darry’s confused stare softened, but the space between his eyebrows remained slightly creased. “What do you mean? How were you there?”</p><p> </p><p>The sadness in Two-Bit’s expression only increased. “You don’t remember <em> anythin’ </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Darry shook his head. “I jus’ thought you were imaginary…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“How?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were there at the funeral. You saw it. You saw the casket.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are <em> not </em> a ghost. Those aren’t real.”<br/><br/>A dry laugh came from Two-Bit. “Then how are you talkin’ to me right now if my body’s six feet under?” Darry looked down at his lap, unsure of some other way. “That’s right. There’s no other way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then… then <em> how </em> are you here? How am I the only one able to see you? My parents and brothers thought I was nuts for talking to air.”</p><p><br/>“I didn’t wanna leave you or my family.”</p><p> </p><p>“One of those seems more important than the other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not to me. We were best friends. Your mother and mine always said we were attached at the hip and then some. We did everythin’ together, even played the same sports,” he referred to the photo on the previous page. He remembered having so much fun playing little league, laughing with Darry even when his skinned palms and knees stung with sand. </p><p> </p><p>Darry was silently flattered by the other’s words, eyes remaining on his lap. He smiled a little, though. “You’re really nice, Two-Bit… uh, Keith,” he corrected himself, chuckling softly, prompting Two-Bit to join him.</p><p> </p><p>“No need to get all formal now, Dar. I don’t call you Mr. Curtis, now do I?”</p><p> </p><p>Darry shook his head, his vision suddenly blurred with tears. “So… So you’re actually dead, Two?” he asked softly, ashamed that he couldn’t remember his own friend’s death. Truly, he couldn’t, but granted a lot of memories from when he was real little were missing. He must’ve been really close to Two-Bit then. He looked back at the scrapbook, hearing a tap of a tear falling onto the page. He did seem really close to him, just as close as he was to him now. It was a shame all the memories were gone, the photos being the only proof of them happening.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p> </p><p>“Could we… could we go see your grave?” Darry asked hesitantly, wiping his tears before meeting Two-Bit’s gaze. </p><p> </p><p>Two-Bit bit his lip and eventually nodded. “If you really wanted to.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Okay.”<br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>There they were now, standing there in front of the gray stone marked with the name “Keith Mathews Jr.”. Snow fluttered down delicately, landing on Darry, decorating his hair and clothes like sugar cookies, yet they passed through Two-Bit. The stone was well-kept, his family must visit often, keeping it clean. There was even a newer looking flower over where the casket would’ve been, gradually getting buried in the snow.</p><p> </p><p>“You were nine years old?” asked Darry softly, staring down at the grave, squinting down at the years his friend had been alive for.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p> </p><p>Darry wanted to ask how Two-Bit had died, but he felt it to be insensitive to ask. Plus, he didn’t know if he could handle hearing the story, his eyes feeling the familiar sting of tears once more.</p><p> </p><p>They were silent for several moments, the faint whisper of the wind brushing past them, and once more, Darry spoke up. </p><p> </p><p>“You know if there’s any flower shops nearby?”</p><p> </p><p>Two-Bit smiled.</p><p> </p><p>After they left the cemetery that day, a new bundle of flowers laid in front of the grave, their red color standing out from the white snow, two sets of footsteps walking away, one of them much fainter than the other, able to disappear with the right amount of wind.</p>
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